Aftermath
by DeathDealer1997
Summary: The world doesn't end with your enemies. I learned that pretty quickly. It just keeps on turning; ignoring everything you've just been through and forgetting you and your problems exist. It just keeps on turning... (Warning: if you prefer your hero noble and selfless, why the heck were you playing Watch Dogs?)


_**Ok, to those who read my previous stories **_**"I Don't Care"**_** and **_**"Don't Look At Me Like That"**_**, you will remember I very sarcastically told you that I would take as long as I would like. That being said, I am *groan* s-s-sor...I'm sorr-so-sor... *exhale* I'M SORRY for taking so long! I had computer troubles that wouldn't let me write for awhile and that's why it took me a huge amount of time to write this. So there.**_

_**Aftermath will be a series of one-shots, not all connected to eachother, about the events after the game. Some are happy and some are sad (ok, most are sad). So, without further adieu (whatever that means), here is the first chapter of **_**"Aftermath"**_** titled **_**"Nothing's Changed"**_**.**_

_**Also, most of these will be first-person Aiden**_

_9 hours after killing Maurice_

It seems like I've come a long way.

Less than a year ago I was just some street vigilante; beating the crap out of random thugs and leaving them for the police. Y'know, back when criminals were luckier.

I recall my old methods as I watch the scum run for his life. His would-be victim safe thanks to the intervention of The Vigilante. I line up the sights and put a bullet right through his skull.

I remember being more merciful than this. A long, long time ago. Before Clara, before Lucky Quinn, before the Merlot job; and most notably before Lena's death.

The victim looks almost sorry for her would-be murderer. Maybe he didn't deserve the fate I chose for him, but I don't really care.

I leave her without a word; get back on my motorcycle and head home

_"Home, huh? I've taken to calling that empty shell home."_

On the way back, however, I get yet another alert. Another crime.

There's something wrong with this city. I thought Quinn's death might at least slow things down but it seems nobody even notices his absence.

Guess he wasn't as important as he thought.

Even without him there are people robbing, raping, and killing each other; and I'm still putting them down in return.

Funny; sometimes it feels like I've come so far, but times like these makes me feel like we haven't moved an inch forward.

My GPS automatically inputs the coordinates of the crime and I head off. I park in the alleyway, the most common place for these common offenses.

I see the victim walking to his car, and I see the brute skulking behind him with a baseball bat.

Probability of crime has reached 91% and I don't need the computer to tell me to intervene.

I keep it simple; nothing heroic or fancy, just run the scumbag over and drive off. The would-be victim hardly notices he's being attacked before his would-be attacker is sent flying a few feet.

Maybe now I can go back to the Bunker without anyone interrupting me.

* * *

From there, the ride home is uneventful. I stop by that crazy guy (I can never remember his name) and he supplies me with some home-made ordinance. Jammers and a couple IODs.

This means I won't have to make some on my own and can try again in my hopeless quest to sleep

The bridge extends at my cue, and I retract it after I'm across to keep wanderers away.

As I exit the lift I keep expecting Clara to be there; working diligently on helping me collect debts. But instead I'm bombarded by the emptiness of the room.

Alone, just like I was when this all started. Completely alone.

And now that I'm thinking like that, I won't be getting any sleep at all. It'd be a waste of time to even try when there's more productive things I could be doing.

I search through police files in hopes of finding some long-term project.

The night is kind to me, and I immediately learn of a gang that's been terrorizing multiple areas of the city. Something to keep me busy for a week or two.

I get on the phone and call my unreliable source of reliable information.

"Didn't I already give you a motorcycle, tonight?"

"I'm looking into a gang, been showing their faces all over the city. You've heard of them."

"Yeah. Well, I can tell you where a few of them are but-well, don't get the wrong idea, its just that Clara and Quinn and all the shooting happened like 6 minuets ago. Are you sure you're ready to start up so soon? No grieving or anything?"

"Can you get me a location or not?" I say, getting pretty annoyed with his false sympathy.

"Alright, alright, hang on a sec. Sending you the coordinates now. Just saying; a lots happened pretty quickly."

"Jordi, nothing's changed." I say to him, heading once more onto the lift, "Nothing at all."


End file.
